


This house of bones

by pineneedlepants



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Dead Cora Hale, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Chris Argent/Peter Hale, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Good Peter Hale, Hurt Derek Hale, M/M, Protective Peter Hale, Sassy Peter, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, Wolf Derek Hale, because I always hurt Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineneedlepants/pseuds/pineneedlepants
Summary: Stiles is entirely unsurprised to find Derek in a snow-blocked, isolate mountain in Wyoming. It's the company the wolf keeps that makes Stiles do a double take.Which is not actually a bad thing, considering the threat Stiles is currently running from. A secure wolf den with a protective pack seems to be the very thing that will undoubtedly save him from harm.Andboredom.--
Relationships: Chris Argent & Derek Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Derek Hale & Peter Hale, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 20
Kudos: 300





	This house of bones

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your heartfelt and warm comments, I adore all of you. Bless!
> 
> As always, this piece is not necessarily for Scott fans, even though he's not very present in this.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

The snow creaks under the weight of Stiles’ car as he slowly navigates through a narrow gravel road. The ice is thick and treacherous, snow piling onto the road faster than he moves forward. The sky howls ominously as the blizzard grows stronger by the minute. 

Where a great forest should stand imposingly all around him, Stiles sees nothing but white. The snowstorm has covered the entire mountain quicker than he’d ever thought, and though it’s still daylight, the blizzard cuts his vision to nil.

He’s driving maddeningly slowly in fear of crashing the car. In tight slopes where he needs to slow down, he sometimes slides backwards when the wheels give out under the slush. The tall snow banks growing on either side of the road have covered all signs and plow stakes from him, making the navigation much more difficult than it need be.

Thank god for GPS.

The radio scrunches, losing and gaining back a local station. _ ‘ - the evening. Major roads are closing by sundown, the heavy snow - …….. - blocks. Residents are - ……. - officers - …….. - armed. The snowstorm is believed to continue for - ……. - weeks. It’s by the longest - ….. ‘ _

Eyeing the radio, Stiles wonders if he’ll be back to Beacon Hills by the end of the week. He was supposed to catch a flight after returning the rental, but his hopes of catching it seem to be in vain. He’d read earlier about the snowstorm about to hit the area, but hadn’t thought about it much. It's not like it snows in Beacon Hills, even in winter, so he doesn’t really  _ understand  _ what a snowstorm means on a factual level. Lots of snow?

Stiles looks to the side and sees nothing.

He snorts.

He turns his gaze back onto the road. It’s frustrating how white everything is. He’s honestly not sure he’s even  _ on  _ a road right now. He could be driving on a field for all he knows, because he sure as hell can’t tell the difference. The snow blends seamlessly into the sky, treacherously painting an entirely white picture of the landscape, with nothing to frame the land or the trees or the - 

The car trembles as Stiles drives onto  _ something,  _ jolting him from his thoughts. He swears profusely, violently pulling the steering wheel left. Which he regrets immediately, as it forces him into a half slide forward.

‘’Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ !’’

Stiles slams his foot on the brake pedal. The pedal crunches back as he continues to slide, not slowing down an inch. As he seesaws the steering wheel in a stupid effort to control the movement, the car rattles and the engine roars, but doesn’t stop. All four tires are unresponsive as he struggles to keep himself from going sideways. ‘’Fucking, stupid, stop, stop  _ stop  _ \- ‘’

He keeps stomping against the brake, gritting his teeth against the push back. This is why he should’ve taken the ice drive test as a cadet. 

The car lurches to the side and back to facing front, rattling his bones as his body jerks uselessly against gravity. There’s an alarming screech of metal. Stiles trembles, knuckles tight against the leather of the steering wheel.

Suddenly, the passenger side crashes into the closest snowbank, finally forcing the vehicle to a jarring stop. Stiles  _ ‘ughs’  _ as he slams against his seatbelt. The engine dies down, ceiling lights filtering back on, the system starting to bleep in an effort to alert him of a malfunction.

The quieting of the motor brings up the silence, his own harsh pants the only thing making noise in the alarm's rhythm screeching at him. 

‘’Shit,’’ Stiles says shakily, letting out a rather panicked breath. He looks out, still seeing absolutely nothing. The wipers are still trying to keep the snow off the windshield, but the heavy fall is thicker now and it’s gathering into enormous lumps. 

His GPS says he’s but a little over three miles from the nearest town. He opens the seatbelt. ‘’Shit,’’ he repeats, pushing his phone onto the passenger seat. He grabs his beanie and throws his hood up before getting out.

The wind immediately blows almost arctic levels of cold onto his face, and he squints against it. Muttering unfavorable things, he goes to the side to check the damage. Hunkering inside his hood, his hands pinned tightly against his sides, he surveys the scene. It’s not as bad as it could be, he supposes. The door to the backseat has caved in from the impact. Pieces of black metal and plastic are littering the ground, a mangled wheel arch panel sadly hanging from its last hinges. He kicks it off the rest of the way.

‘’Fuck.’’

The road is almost up to his ankles deep in snow, so he has to hurry the fuck up or die from exposure in a no-name road in  _ Wyoming  _ of all places. Circling the entire car, he checks that the wheels haven’t been damaged, and upon seeing that they’re still good, he searches for any other fault.

Absently, he wonders what he hit. There’s no blood splattered across the front or the wheels, so at least he didn’t accidentally murder any animals. He guesses he could’ve just hit a lump of ice, which is the only thing probable.

With a sigh, he trudges back to the front to see if that is still somewhat all right. He can’t see any visible damage, but that certainly isn’t a guarantee. Micro damage is sometimes worse, and often harder to repair than a plain panel.

With nothing to fix things properly at the moment, Stiles decides to tackle one problem at a time. He climbs enough on top of the hood of his Jeep to snatch the lumped stacks of snow off the wipers.

With no gloves, his poor fingers freeze almost immediately.

It makes his hands ache fiercely and he barely gets the work done before he has to retreat inside the car. 

Sadly, in no time at all the warmth inside has disappeared, cold seeping in its place. With numb fingers, he fumbles with the car keys enough that he drops them a dozen times before angrily shoving them into their slot.

There is still daylight, which he counts as his diminishing luck, so he figures he has, maybe, an hour or so to find refuge from the nearby town.

‘’Come on, come on,  _ come on _ ,’’ he mutters, turning the key and starting the engine. It splutters and cries for a moment or two, before it roars to life. It’s the most beautiful sound Stiles has ever heard. He could literally weep from joy.

With a sound of triumph, he immediately puts the heating to full blast.

He pulls off the crash site slowly, tentatively feeling the ground underneath, the strength of the wheels. Once he’s sure nothing will fall apart on him, he gets back on the road. He checks the map to see how much the road bends at times so he’s sure he’s at least  _ sort of  _ going the right way and then puts the music back on.

He’s hungry, cold and tired, and he’ll do anything to get some curly fries at the end of his long, depressing day. 

His view behind the windshield is just as white and deceptive as it was the first time. With a grimace, he changes gear.

_ Curly fries _ .

  
  
***  
  
  
  
  


‘’Thank you,’’ Stiles says, pocketing his hotel key as he exits the building. The sky has darkened considerably since his unfortunate crash but the sun is still somehow hanging in there, behind the thick clouds. 

With his hands deep into his jacket, Stiles treks through the empty streets. Most of the residents have retired for the day, knowing full well what’s to come during the night, but some shops and restaurants are still open and serving.

And Stiles is indeed looking for something to be served.

With his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of food, he determinately forges onward in the storm. The guy managing the reception had told him the closest restaurant still open was three blocks from the hotel, something called ‘Boar’s Lodge’. He has no idea what type of food they serve, but it sounds like meat.

As he walks, he observes the town. It seems tiny enough to be called a village, with only one decent grocery store and only one short main street. Everything essential is on that street, groceries, clothes, books.  _ Guns _ . Unease settling in the pit of his stomach, he counts at least ten gun stores. Apparently, an essential for a person living on a mountain is a gun.

Not clothes or medicine or food. Just. Firearms.

Geez.

At the end of the road, near where Stiles thinks the Boar’s Lodge is located, a big, black Range Rover is idling with its motor running. The car’s windows are tinted black. The engine is almost purring as it idles there, gleaming even through the blinding snowstorm. It’s such a reminiscent vision of a hunter’s SUV Stiles kept seeing in Beacon Hills that he’s immediately side-eyeing it. 

There are no stickers or other markers in the rear bumper. It’s an oddity in here, when every single other vehicle has some decal in their car. It’s even unblemished, with absolutely no marks of crashing or scratching  _ or  _ gunshots.

God, that thing must be brand new.

Perking up a little, Stiles tries to imperceptibly see if anyone’s in it. A mystery is a mystery, even in a no-name town in a mountain in Wyoming.

It would seem likely that werewolves would enjoy living in the mountains like this. And where werewolves, or any other creature of the night resides, hunters will most likely follow.

Just as he’s passing it, he sees that one of the back windows is half open. Too curious for his own good, he slows his trek, pretending to be noticing something interesting on the other side of the road as he discreetly peers inside. A huge black wolf stares unashamedly back at him, his eyes a steady, glowing blue.

It takes almost five seconds for his frozen brain to comprehend what he sees.

‘’Holy shit!  _ Derek _ ?’’ he exclaims in a muffled voice, stumbling forwards in shock. It has to be. It  _ has  _ to. Stiles has met many a werewolf in the past, but so far he knows of only the Hale line to be able to do the full shift. 

The wolf blinks before his eyes round, and he jerks in the seat. His head pops out of the window, scenting the air.

Yeah, that’s definitely Derek. Stiles pulls down the scarf from his mouth. ‘’Dude! It’s me. It’s  _ Stiles _ .’’

With that, Derek retreats his head and gestures for Stiles to come forward. It’s as good as an invitation from the man, so Stiles immediately pulls the door open and scrambles in. As Derek pushes himself backwards, Stiles pulls the door closed and tries to mold himself into the backseat.

As he turns around to face Derek, he grins so hard he feels like his mouth is stretched into a manic smile. He’s elated. God, he’s missed this lumpy, grumpy old man.

Not waiting for permission, Stiles lunges for the wolf. He hugs him hard and tight, giddy from seeing an old friend. ‘’Oh my god,’’ he gasps, nuzzling his head in the warm, soft fur. ‘’Oh my god, dude. Derek. My man. I’ve  _ missed  _ you.’’

Derek leans into the touch with a sigh, pushing his head against Stiles’ neck. He lets out a rumble, something that Stiles translates into acceptance. Almost like an admission.  _ I missed you too. _

Stiles basks in the feeling. 

God. It’s Derek.  _ Derek _ . Derek who got him out of as much trouble as he dragged him into.  _ The  _ Derek who protected him when he’d been possessed with the Nogitsune, instead of killing him when they had the chance. That same Derek who went through so much horror just to save a bunch of ungrateful teenagers.

Flashes of memories spring up inadvertently. The loft, clean and pooling in sunlight as he and Derek were hunched over Stiles’ laptop in the living room. He can almost  _ feel  _ the sunshine he felt on his face while he’d researched with Derek about Erica’s and Boyd’s whereabouts. The entire summer they spent together, bickering, snarking, worried out of their minds for the two betas. Their friends.

In another memory, he tastes the curly fries he got while road-tripping through the states back to Beacon Hills, both older, more grown, more mature. He can hear the old rock songs Derek loved to play, the scent of Derek’s soap and the leather jacket Stiles got to borrow from time to time.

There are so many things that left a scar in them, that frightened them beyond any reason. So much tragedy forced upon such young people in such a short amount of time. Nightmares that happened, genuinely took place, the torture and pain they withstood. 

And yet.

And yet, seeing Derek now, after years of separation, he can only recall the good things. The happy things that happened between all that horror. The feel of wind on his skin as he raced through the preserve with Derek. The warmth of Derek’s palm against the nape of his neck as he passed him by in the loft’s compact kitchen. The smell of gas exhaust as Stiles sat on the ground, offering Derek tools while the older man worked on the engine of his Camaro.

He’s jarred from his memories as both front doors open, and two familiar figures hop in. It makes him startle enough to slam his hand to where his empty holster is.

Hand grasping at nothing, he clutches at Derek. His panicked reaction changes to slight shock and he gapes at the two men adjusting themselves in the front seats. He hadn’t actually thought Derek was sitting in the  _ back  _ seat. That he was in the company of someone. He could’ve been locked in and kept as a hostage, and Stiles just. Barged in like an idiot. Too excited to get close to Derek, he’d completely disregarded his surroundings, something he hasn’t done in _ ten years.  _ Good to know Derek still has that effect on him.

It’s Peter who Stiles sees at first, and Stiles has to admit it’s hilarious. Peter barely glances in the back first, before freezing and taking a double take.

‘’Nephew,’’ Peter says mildly, leaning to turn around to face the back. ‘’I thought we’d scheduled ‘kidnapping teenagers’ for next week.’’

‘’What?’’ the other person says, before turning too, and christ on a cracker, it’s  _ Chris Argent _ of all people. Chris’ eyes are the same cool ice they’ve always been, though his face has gotten scruffier. And greyer. 

Stiles blinks at them both, his mouth parting in surprise. ‘’Oh my god,’’ he blurts, a little disbelievingly. He eases out of hugging Derek so he can look down to count his fingers. ‘’Am I dreaming? Is this  _ real _ ?’’

Ten. Ten fingers.

Chris stares coolly at him for a moment, seeming nonplussed. Then he looks at Peter. ‘’He’s your responsibility.’’

‘’Which one?’’ Peter grins back, his sharp gaze never wavering from Stiles. ‘’Hello Stiles. How wonderful to hear you’re dreaming of me often enough to warrant a check of reality.’’

Refusing to flush in embarrassment at the comment, Stiles waves at him awkwardly. ‘’Uh. Hi?’’

He blinks a couple times before just giving a disbelieving, ‘’Dude, what the fuck!’’

‘’As eloquent as ever, I see,’’ Peter purrs. ‘’This is rather nostalgic. You did always have a knack at appearing rather unexpectedly in places.’’

‘’I saw a suspicious vehicle and decided to investigate,’’ he croaks, pushing his hood down and taking his beanie off at the same time. Regaining some equilibrium, he says more confidently, ‘’And now I see my suspicions were right.’’

‘’Oh dear,’’ Peter responds mildly. ‘’The citizens of this town duly note your vigilance. Who knows what sort of characters move around in these parts, getting into unguarded vehicles to rummage around for money and other valuables.’’

‘’Yeah, searching for the value of  _ friendship _ ,’’ Stiles snarks back, scooting closer to Peter. God, he hasn’t seen the wolf since the Ghost Riders. He’s so happy to see that Peter’s still the same asshole as ever. That he hasn’t let his rocky life inherently change him. ‘’It’s invaluable by the way. I hope you realize that.’’ He looks down at the packets on Peter’s lap that smell heavenly to his nose. His stomach rumbles, reminding him of his original mission. ‘’Also, now I see that you have food. As the sole part of the rescue party, I plead my compensation to be given in sustenance.’’

‘’God help us all,’’ Chris mutters with a sigh. ‘’I’m sorry to break things short, but we’re on a tight schedule. We need to leave before we lose all daylight and they block the roads. There are militant forces securing the borders during storms, to prevent looting. If we want to exit the town, we need to  _ go _ .’’

‘’Oh,’’ Stiles says, feeling his face fall as he’s hit with the pang of disappointment. ‘’Oh, right. Uh, sorry. You should definitely go before they’ll block you in. I’m, uh, glad to see you guys. That you’re all right.’’ Wiping his hand across his mouth, he nods. ‘’It was good meeting you.’’

As he’s trying to maneuver himself to the door, biting back the well of misery in his chest, Derek stops him with a sturdy set of teeth gently gripping his elbow. The wolf rumbles at Peter, communicating with him. Peter quirks his mouth.

‘’Um,’’ Stiles says. He looks at all three men. Chris stares at Peter in disbelief before hiding his face in his palms. He groans. Peter’s grin widens with sharp canines.

‘’What are you in town for?’’ Peter asks, turning back to Stiles. 

Shrugging, Stiles says, ‘’I was just passing through. There was supposed to be a flight I meant to catch, but uh, the snow sorta surprised me. I’m stuck in here until the roads are cleared again.’’

Peter raises his brows. ‘’You realize that could be three-four weeks from now?’’

‘’What?’’ Stiles asks, alarmed. ‘’What do you mean three or four weeks? Isn’t that - Isn’t this storm just passing by?’’

‘’Oh it’s passing by, all right. The shortest snowstorm in memory might’ve been three and a half weeks? Perhaps? Mostly these things are quite lengthy, up to a month or two with no access to civilization. Well. I say civilization, but I mean the access beyond the mountain to the larger cities.’’

It’s impossible, Stiles thinks, for him to stay alone for three entire weeks. Or  _ more _ . He’d go nuts in that tiny hotel room. He grimaces. ‘’Where. . . Where are you guys staying?’’

‘’We live here. A couple hours from here. In a cabin,’’ Peter answers. ‘’Self-sustainable. We’re all the way down here just to splurge on take-out.’’

Stiles looks at the food, and then at the faces of his past enemies, part allies, maybe-friends. It’d be safe at least, he thinks. A wolf’s den might be the most secure place in the world. If there are any mishaps with the unsubs Stiles helped arrest less than a week ago, then none of them could come after him without one of these three noticing them first.

Not letting them go back on their offer, he looks at Chris who sits behind the wheel. ‘’Do you know where the ‘Gunnar’s Maple’ is?’’

  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
  


‘’So, Stiles,’’ Peter says, ten minutes out of town. ‘’Tell us about yourself. How did you find yourself in here, of all places?’’

Stiles hums. ‘’Here in this car, or here in this state?’’

‘’Either. Both.’’

With a deep and tired sigh, Stiles slumps in his seat. ‘’Work, I guess,’’ he mutters. ‘’I - I completed the FBI training. The same program I was in when I rescued you,’’ he turns to look at Derek, ‘’Nine. . . Ten? Years ago. Or I mean, I finished my training in like, four years, and I’ve been working for six plus something years. It’s. . . You know. That.’’

‘’Classified,’’ Peter supplies.

‘’Yeah,’’ Stiles nods. He hesitates. Truthfully, his complicated feelings of his employment is something he hasn’t managed to utter out loud yet. To anyone. The thought of being a government agent held such appeal when he was younger. A shiny badge, arresting bad guys and being the one authority figure people would trust. Like his dad. The need to do good,  _ be  _ good, was something he wasn’t gonna pass up for anything, not when he’d managed to weasel into that training all on his own.

Unfortunately, the reality brought him back to earth faster than he expected. The corruption, the hate crimes, the violence, the needless hierarchy. . . No free will or agency for any of the agents. He was just a puppet for the government to use, especially with his knowledge of things that walk among the humans.

He means to say nothing. Stiles honestly means to stay quiet of his desperate thoughts, to not voice them aloud, in case something, or someone, was listening. Walls have ears and all.

But he’s in the company of two, no, scratch that, three lie detectors, so lying wouldn’t cut it.

It wouldn’t be worth it. Not here.

‘’But it’s. . . I mean, all the stuff we went through just in high school, it. . . It just, changed something in you, fundamentally. I grew, sorta, numb, I guess? Against all that violence. So I just kept going and just did what I had to do, even if I didn’t really approve most of the cases I was assigned to. You get swept up in the current with no way out. I mean, it’s just work. I meant it to be my dream and then, I don’t know. I guess I grew tired of the entire system.’’ He sighs.

And then mutters very, very quietly, ‘’And I don’t - I’m probably not gonna go back.’’

Peter’s tone is mildly surprised. ‘’You quit?’’

‘’I - Don’t tell my  _ dad _ , but, I - I - ‘’ he bites his tongue.  _ I hate it _ , he wants to say.  _ It’s awful _ , he thinks miserably,  _ it makes me hate myself _ . ‘’It’s not really working out for me anymore.’’

Derek chuffs beside him, poking him with his snout. His glowing blue eyes look solemn as he gazes at Stiles.

‘’Yeah,’’ Stiles says sadly, giving Derek’s head a pat. ‘’You get it, don’t you? It’s why you’re a mountain man these days.’’

At that, Derek gives him an ugly look. Stiles ignores it, because it brings him pleasure to ruffle Derek a little. ‘’I’m ready to just  _ be  _ for a while. Preferably at home. No craziness, no cases, just. Rest.’’

Peter hums. ‘’Doing a little retreat back home seems like a good deal to me.’’

Stiles prickles at the words a little. He’s not  _ retreating _ , okay, retreating sounds like he cowardly escaped his duty. Like he’d be going back with a tail tucked between his legs. He did his duty to the government. He worked so hard to get where he is today, got through all that training and went beyond it. He’s not some  _ loser  _ who skipped town when things got heavy - 

‘’John will be happy to get his son home, I’m sure,’’ he continues clueless of the storm brewing inside Stiles’ head, sounding a little odd. Derek’s ears flatten against his skull, his head swiveling to stare back outside. 

Peter turns his gaze to the rearview mirror, staring at Stiles with alpha red eyes. ‘’Going back to your family is something most of us here don’t have.’’

That makes Stiles settle a little guiltily. The angry retort deflates out of him just as quick as it formed. Both Peter and Chris have tragically lost their children, their wives and their homes and their roots. They are literally grieving widows, Stiles realizes with a pang. 

Derek too. He’s been used by many, offered himself to many, and everyone has just taken, taken, taken, until there was nothing left to give. Nowhere safe to go.

‘’Yeah,’’ Stiles croaks, suddenly,  _ fiercely  _ missing his dad. ‘’Yeah, it, it’s good. I’ve missed him. A lot. He uh, he got involved in a shootout six months ago. Some jackass tried to rob the bank in this day and age. Had a semi-automatic.’’

‘’How is he?’’ Chris asks, gently brushing his hand against Peter’s, and the wolf diminishes the glow in his eyes.

‘’He’s all right,’’ Stiles reassures. ‘’He’d been thinking about retirement lately. Figured he’d do a couple more years being a sheriff before nominating Parrish onto his spot. He um, he lost a leg in that shootout. The medics had to amputate it. He’s doing rehab like a champ, but I think he’s struggling and stubbornly not telling me about it. So I had to finish my mission and then get back home to him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, dad’s super happy being in Melissa’s care, but um. It scared us both, a lot. So. I want to go home and be there for dad. Help him, like he’s helped so many others.’’

‘’He’s proud of you, Stiles,’’ Chris says after a moment. ‘’He wouldn’t want you to give up your dream to take care of him.’’

‘’Well, I’m not giving up anything when I go back to care for him. I  _ want  _ to be there for him. Maybe, dunno, get back into community college and study myself another degree. Who knows? All I know for certain that I’m getting off this damned mountain and going back to Beacon Hills because my dad deserves to hear my nagging every day.’’

Chris’ lips twitch in amusement. ‘’I’m sure John agrees with you.’’

A little grumpily, Stiles huffs. ‘’Now enough about me. I’m more interested in the food you’re hogging, because I don’t know about you but I entered this vehicle hungry enough to eat an elephant, and I swear to god, I will read you the riot act if you don’t start passing around those containers.’’

Derek shuffles next to him, craning his neck to the middle console, poking his uncle in the arm with his snout.

‘’All right then,’’ Peter shrugs, the plastic bags crinkling as he gets them open. ‘’Any allergies?’’

‘’Nope, none, nada, zilch.’’

‘’Well, now you have developed an allergy towards boar stir fry, so skip that container if you’d like to get down this mountain alive,’’ Peter says mildly, pushing a couple bags behind him. He gives Stiles a serious stare. ‘’All three of them.’’

‘’Aw,’’ Stiles huffs, ‘’That seemed super delicious. What else do you have?’’

He doesn’t get an answer, because abruptly both wolves are facing forward. Derek is suddenly sprung tight, his ears pricked straight forward.

‘’Slightly to your left,’’ Peter murmurs, which Chris immediately complies with. Stiles tries to squint and see what has both Hales so alert, but still can’t see anything but the falling snow.

‘’I honestly don’t understand how you’re capable of driving in this damn snow when you literally can’t see anything ahead of you,’’ he blurts at Chris, who’s deftly handling the vehicle.

‘’He’s got me,’’ Peter answers smoothly. ‘’A little bit more left now. The road turns here.’’

‘’Then what’s got you all strung up?’’ Stiles asks Derek, eyeing him dubiously. Derek flicks an ear at him.

‘’He can hear a lot more in his full shift than I can in my beta shift,’’ Peter says, ‘’On both sides of us, there is nothing but mountain forest. Wild animals react unpredictably and wildly to predators hunting them. Many humans die in these parts in car crashes with stampede crazed elks or fighting alpha bears.’’

‘’Ahhhh, I see. Yeah, makes sense. I uh. Did not think of that when I drove up,’’ Stiles blinks blankly. Digging into a random box, he shovels the tortillas he finds inside into his mouth. He decides to not think about meeting two fighting male bears while he crashed into that snowbank. And cluelessly ventured outside, entirely oblivious to the dangers posed around him.

Nope.

Not thinking about it at all.

  
  
  


***

  
  


An hour into the drive, Stiles finally figures out how to hog the audio system with his phone. He crows in triumph, shutting down the classic rock station that just screams Derek’s influence, and putting on a little more cheery music.

Both Peter and Derek give him the judgmental eyebrow. 

‘’What?’’ He grins, ‘’You don’t like?  _ Take me back to the, sweet tides, the hot nights, everything is gonna be alright, in the summertime - ‘’ _

For the rest of the ride, Derek keeps licking his very pointedly sharp teeth whenever Stiles picks a song he doesn’t like. Stiles, predictably, ignores all and every warning sign, and gets one set of werewolf teeth decorating the skin of his wrist.

  
***  
  
  


It’s already pitch dark by the time they reach the cabin. After the tense brief altercation, Derek seemed to abandon the thought of food and stayed vigilant for the rest of the ride. 

Peter had no such qualms and dived into his food like a starving animal. Not that Stiles could fault him, because he did the exact same. And with his belly finally full, and the ride being blessedly warm and cozy, Stiles ended up nodding off.

Snorting himself awake, Stiles forgets for a moment where he is. He jerks upright, his hands coming to rest on his gun holster, which is still empty. 

‘’Chris Argent,’’ a voice says, to which Stiles focuses his attention. The driver’s window is down with Chris leaning slightly out of it. Rubbing at his scratchy eyes, Stiles realizes they’ve stopped in front of a huge electric fence, and Chris is talking into some gate-locking intercom.

_ ‘’Access granted. Identifying person number two _ ,’’ a mechanical voice says. Peter leans over the middle console and purrs, ‘’Peter Hale.’’

_ ‘’Access granted. Identifying person number three _ .’’

Stiles turns to look at Derek to see if he’s going to shift back to human. Derek snorts at him when he slumps in disappointment at Derek’s loud howl.

_ ‘’Access granted. Identifying person number four _ ,’’ the voice says. 

‘’New voice activation, Stiles Stilinski,’’ Chris says. There’s a momentary pause, and then the intercom voice says,  _ ‘’New voice activation, Stiles Stilinski. Repeat your name in various tones, ten times, clearly, into the microphone _ .’’

‘’Whoah,’’ Stiles exclaims, as Peter jerks him bodily, and awkwardly into the front. He slumps painfully between the seats, his legs still in the back, but his front leaning into Chris’ lap. 

‘’Uh, geez,’’ he grunts, trying to push himself a little more upright. There’s a rosy blush rising to his cheeks as he balances himself on his hands on Chris’ muscular thighs. He clears his throat.

‘’Uh, Stiles Stilinski.’’ He repeats it ten times.

After another momentary silence, the system says, ‘’ _ Identifying person number four. _ ’’

‘’Uh, Stiles Stilinski,’’ he says, wincing. 

_ ‘’Access granted. Welcome back. There are no activities reported during absence. The time is eleven forty-seven pm. Storm will hit a peak in mid-morning, and continue weaker for the next seven days. ’’ _

‘’Am I entering a goddamn fortress or what?’’ Stiles grunts as he pushes himself back. The gates slowly roll open, and Chris gently accelerates through them.

There seems to be some sort of driveway they’re going up, though it’s all been buried underneath the thick blanket of snow. The house is right there on the horizon, far enough away from the fence to make it seem like it’s not there at all. 

The house itself is gorgeous. Made from heavy logs and stones, it rises from the ground in two stories. The windows are big and wide, opening up a majestic view to the world below.

Stiles whistles his appreciation. ‘’This must’ve cost a fortune.’’

Peter concedes. ‘’Quite. Bought the land, started from scratch. Took an entire month just to clear out a foundation for the house.’’

Stiles blinks. ‘’You had this built?’’

‘’Mm-hm,’’ Peter nods, gathering up their trash as Chris smoothly drives into the garage. ‘’We needed a home base that was created solely for our needs. Somewhere out of sight, deep into the wild.’’

Glancing at the wolf sitting next to him, Stiles asks, ‘’For Derek?’’

‘’For all of us,’’ Peter insists mildly. ‘’With the lives we’ve led, we deserve some privacy and solitude, do we not?’’

‘’Yeah, can’t begrudge you for that,’’ Stiles nods, scrambling out of the car. He holds the door open for Derek who hops out, and then he follows like a little duckling his entourage into the depths of the house.

The house, Stiles decides later, will be the model of his own future home. He can’t help but gawk in awe at the space and height of the place, the clean, smooth structure of the rooms, their cozy decor.

Letting himself wander around a bit, Stiles curiously goes through the house.

The entire first floor is made to be a living area. On the left side, there’s a full kitchen that blends seamlessly into the dining room, all white and grey tiling and color. It’s serene and calming, with the black tiles of the kitchen floor all heated. The rest of the flooring is made from the same timber vinyl plank, with plush rugs Stiles knows he could easily sink his toes into.

On the right side of the house, there’s a cozy living room area with a huge L-shaped couch with an entertainment system set up. Tall, beautiful bookshelves filled with opuses, soft paperbacks and hardcovers lined up. 

There are no concrete doors between the three rooms, just beautiful wooden archways separating the floor into clear spaces.

On the side of the living room, there’s a small hallway that leads to two doors. The other, Stiles discovers, is a small bathroom which he finds to his great relief, making use of the facilities immediately. He  _ did  _ drink all that coffee when he’d driven up the mountain.

The other door is closed, but though there’s a lock, the key is slotted in place. He braves a peek inside and finds only what seems to be a compact office room. There are two laptops side by side on the table, bookshelves covering all the wall space of the room.

Stiles skips back as quietly as he can.

In the middle of the floor, right in front of the primary entrance, there are rugged stairs leading up to what Stiles assumes are the sleeping quarters. 

‘’Yes, up there are the bedrooms,’’ Peter says, giving Chris a generous kiss on the mouth as the other man announces he’ll reheat the rest of what is left of their food. He looks at Stiles after Chris has gone, and sweeps his arm in a grand gesture of ‘go ahead.’

Stiles traipses up quickly, the upper landing in stark contrast to the floor below. There is a long, wide hallway that continues to the other end of the house, another set of enormous windows offering a view of the mountain. There’s a similar entertainment system with a big couch like the one in the living room, just on what seems to be the smaller scale.

The hallway otherwise is filled with four distinct sets of doors. Peter, who has been walking right behind Stiles, stops as Stiles does. ‘’To the right of you, that first door ajar right there, is Derek’s bedroom. It’ll work as yours for the duration of your stay.’’

They walk right up to it, and Peter pushes the door open. The space is roomy and comfortable, painted in faint grays and blues. There’s a king-sized bed slapped right into the middle, with a small TV at the end. The air smells slightly stuffy to Stiles’ nose, like nobody has been there in awhile. 

‘’I can take the couch, I don’t want to drive Derek away from his own bedroom,’’ Stiles says, scratching his beard.

Peter waves away his concerns. ‘’Derek won’t sleep there anyway, so I best suggest you use it. That’s his laptop right there on the table, so you must maneuver his things for a bit to get your stuff to fit, but it should be all right. Ask Derek where he’ll want you to stuff his things and he’ll let you know if you touch something you’re not supposed to.’’

‘’No really, I don’t need this much space. I can just, dunno, hog that gigantic ass sofa I saw earlier. Looked like it would be heaven to my back,’’ Stiles argues.

Peter stares him down for a moment, before shrugging. ‘’I honestly don’t care where you sleep, as long as you’re not taking  _ my  _ bed. But I will assure you that Derek doesn’t mind you taking up his space.’’

‘’I’ll think about it,’’ Stiles sighs. He looks one more time at the room before closing the door. 

Peter takes him through the floor briskly. ‘’Right next to your room is a bathroom with a shower and a bathtub. Feel free to use it whenever.’’

‘’Are you saying I smell?’’ he asks, scrunching his nose. ‘’Thanks. Way to make a guy feel special.’’

‘’Werewolf,’’ Peter responds in faint amusement. Then, without showing the bathroom, he points to the other side of the hallway. ‘’Those double doors lead to mine and Chris’ room. I’d forbid you from entering if I didn’t know it would drive you to get in even more. So,’’ he opens the double doors, the room opening to a wide space with a bed that could fit four or more people easily. Like, and Stiles winces as he compares it, a wolf’s den for his cubs.

There are more bookshelves, a big mirror with a walk-in closet. The room is painted in whites and greys, the simple theme seeming to continue. Though there are more plants here, Stiles notes, than there was in Derek’s room. And downstairs. 

The doors close in his face. ‘’Right. And that door there leads to the walk-in closet, though to a separate part of it. You can access the closet from both sides, but you can also lock the doors so you can’t get into our bedroom.’’

‘’For emergencies?’’

‘’Something like that,’’ Peter nods.

‘’Yeah, no, I get it. It’s smart. Efficient. And anyway, who the hell designed this place? Are there more secret pathways that I’m supposed to know of, or am I supposed to find them all on my own?’’

‘’I bought the plot and did all the legal work, Derek designed the house,’’ Peter replies readily, ‘’And Chris did the security.’’

‘’Derek?’’ Stiles asks dumbly.  _ ‘’Our  _ Derek? The Derek in this house? He designed all this? What is he, like, an architect or something?’’

‘’No need to look so surprised,’’ Peter says snarkily, slightly offended on Derek’s behalf. ‘’My nephew has his shortcomings, but he did well in his academic career.’’

‘’Ah, no, I didn’t mean - I mean, geez,’’ he fumbles, rubbing at his face. Wincing, he thinks he really should learn when to shut up. He hollers ‘’If you eavesdropped, sorry Derek!’’ and says to Peter, ‘’Look. I know he left his UNI incomplete when he came back to Beacon Hills after Laura’s - ‘’ He falters.

This is a festering wound still between the two Hales, no doubt. A grief eternal, the heartache still evident in the absence of her name.

He treads carefully again, this time more quietly. ‘’We talked about it, years and years ago during that one long ass summer. He said he’d tried completing some courses online, but that all of his time was consumed by all the bad guys showing up and hunting him, or then running after us. So uh. I um. I’m happy. You know. For him? I just - He never told me what he studied, but it seemed like he felt - like he was missing his opportunity for a future by not being able to do any of his school work. I figured he never got the chance to - you know. He wasn’t really given a chance to, to do anything but to survive. Let alone  _ homework _ .’’

Peter’s expression is blank, but there’s a shimmer of something in his eyes. Peter used to be in the same boat. He was in a forced coma for  _ six years _ . Of course he understands.

For missing a chunk of his life, Peter is viciously clinging onto the remaining future he has.

Stiles still swallows a little nervously. He asks, softly, ‘’Ok?’’

To which Peter gives a sigh. ‘’Yes, all right. We’ve had some extenuating circumstances. Though you should be pleased to know my nephew graduated the top of his class.’’ He starts back down the stairs to the heavenly smell wafting from the kitchen. 

A slight smile stretches his lips. Yeah, damn. He  _ is  _ pleased.

Stiles trails after him, shrugging off the uncomfortable conversation and focuses on the other two tidbits of information. ‘’So. You actually let an  _ Argent  _ plan the security of your den?’’

Peter trips him on the last step.

  
  
***

With a mug of something warm and spicy, Stiles settles into a pelt covered sofa, comfortably safe in the screened back patio. The storm has picked up a notch; the wind howling in rage as the snow keeps piling up.

Cuddling further into the cushions, he picks up the blanket left on the sofa, and drapes it over his shoulders, burrowing in. His breath fogs up and his cheeks get pinched with rosy red as the frost nips at his skin. The mug he’s holding tightly between his hands seeps heat into him, and he falls easily into a semi-aware doze.

He’s left alone for a few moments. Just gazing out at the covered landscape. He never stops marveling at the power nature wields so easily. 

The patio door rattles as Peter steps out, followed by clacks of Derek’s claws hitting the floor. 

‘’You look comfortable,’’ Peter notes, sliding the door back shut as he makes sure Derek is not between. The wolf doesn’t jump onto the cushions with Stiles, but decides to just settle right beside his sock covered feet.

‘’I am,’’ Stiles mumbles, sighing. ‘’So very, very comfortable. Never been more cozy. Toasty. ‘S nice.’’

Peter grabs another quilt and wraps himself in it, settling beside him.

For a while, nobody says anything. They just bask in the feeling of quiet, the wind flying the snow around like tiny little glitters of silver.

‘’So. When’d you guys get this place?’’ Stiles asks eventually.

‘’Mm. Some four years ago,’’ Peter replies. His foot has been rubbing Derek’s back, up and down. 

Stiles is a little jealous of how comfy Derek looks laying there on the freezing floor. He wishes he didn’t have to gather up ten layers of clothing just so he won’t feel like he’s turning into an icicle.

‘’How’d you end up here?’’

Peter is quiet for a moment, contemplating his answer. His eyes gaze unseeing towards the woods.

‘’After - Hmm.’’

Stiles sneaks a glance at the older man. ‘’After?’’

Peter taps at his mug. Derek looks at them both under his brows, waiting to see if his uncle is willing to give a truthful reply. It’s not just  _ his  _ history on the line, after all. Derek is a big part of the last five years of Peter’s life, and it’ll be quite the chest of secrets to spill.

As if sensing Derek’s gaze, Peter looks down at him with a frown. Derek blinks at him, letting him choose whatever parts he’s willing to share. 

Taking a deliberate sip of his drink, Peter drawls, ‘’After we got rid of the Ghost Riders and I’d gotten my payment for the destroyed Shelby 1000 Cobra, I decided that whether or not Malia was coming with me, I would leave.’’

‘’. . .To where?’’

Peter shrugs. ‘’I still had some unfinished business with the Argents left to deal with that demanded my attention.’’

Stiles looks alarmed, even though he knows Chris is fine. He  _ had  _ sometimes wondered what happened to all three of them.

‘’I followed Christopher to France. I needed him to verify to me, with his very own mouth, that both Kate and Gerard were dead.’’

‘’Ouch,’’ Stiles winces. ‘’I take he took to that real well?’’

‘’Well, I didn’t really have time to talk to him before we were already being fired at. Always in the thick of things,’’ Peter sighs dramatically. 

‘’Yeah, well, I think it might be more about dumb luck at this point than anything else,’’ Stiles darkly mutters. ‘’I think the Nemeton somehow marked us all, in some way, for going through all that shit. But, uh yeah. Continue, please.’’

‘’Christopher had been in a rather sticky situation before I arrived, and he wasn’t exactly delighted to see me,’’ Peter snorts. Derek’s tail thumps a couple times in amusement.

‘’Oh yeah?’’ Stiles grins. ‘’Forget the adventures of Dora the Explorer, we need to start a mini documentary of the adventures of Hale and Argent.’’

‘’Cheeky,’’ Peter says, taking another sip of his drink. ‘’But yes. He had some unfinished business himself, so I decided to stick by and help him deal with his shit, and then I’d demand answers of my own.’’

Stiles listens attentively as Peter recalls their daring escapes in France, and the enemies that followed them after. Two entire years the two men had travelled together, taking down the very rotten roots of the hunter system that had sabotaged the balance in Beacon Hills to begin with.

‘’. . .And then we stumbled upon Cora’s old pack in Brazil,’’ he says somberly. 

‘’Oh yeah! How is she?’’ Stiles perks up. Cora was a real badass from what he remembers, and though she and Derek had their arguments, they were all each other had left. He’d gotten to see a soft side of the grumpy wolf when his sister was around, and he’d sort of been quietly devastated by the fallout of Cora deciding Derek was not worth her time and going back to South America.

Derek lets out a tiny, barely there whine. Blinking down at the wolf, a small bubble of dread fills his stomach. 

Peter pats the empty space beside him, to which Derek immediately jumps to. The younger man settles in, his snout pressed against his uncle’s thigh.

‘’Hunters had attacked them,’’ Peter admits quietly. ‘’Decimated all but the defenseless pups the adults had managed to hide.’’

Swallowing past the lump, Stiles asks, ‘’Cora?’’

With a sigh, Peter shakes his head. ‘’We hunted her trail all the way down to Argentina. A new, if well established hunter clan had captured quite the number of shapeshifters for their experimentations. By the time we found their facilities, they had already tortured most of them to death. Including my sweet niece.’’

‘’No,’’ Stiles chokes, the words caught in his throat. ‘’Please no.’’

Gently carding his fingers through Derek’s fur, Peter gives a subdued nod. ‘’That’s where we found Derek.’’

‘’Derek - ‘’ his words die on his tongue. Derek had been there when they’d tortured Cora to death? Jesus. Does  _ any  _ of the Hale family ever get any break?

‘’They’d taken a liking to Derek’s full shift. Thought Cora was capable of it too.’’

Shakily thumping his mug on the side table, Stiles buries his face in his hands to hide the tears. It’s too much. Almost half of his friends he knew in high school are dead. Boyd, Erica, Allison, now Cora? He’s not sure he can continue listening to this. 

_ Cora is dead _ . And Derek had been tortured for God knows how long, probably resigned to his fate, knowing rescue wasn’t coming. He must’ve felt so alone, terrified out of his mind for whomever was going to drag him out of his cage to be interrogated, violated beyond anything Stiles’ mind can comprehend. 

He’s seen what torture does to people. It’s his job for god’s sake, to know the ways terrorists torture infromation out of their victims. A bunch of cases have been to retrieve targets from gangs and organized crime syndicates.

An unbidden sob escapes his throat.

He hates that he didn’t keep contact with any of the Hales after his own departure from Beacon Hills. Shit like this is so much easier to prevent from happening when people communicate with each other. If he’d just - Gathered his courage, the last time he saw Derek, and took his time to actually talk to him, instead of  _ at  _ him, he thinks Derek might have been spared the cruel fate of yet again being the target of someone’s hatred.

Derek is always swallowed up in such horrible grief. Stiles aches for him, for Peter, heart mourning for Cora.

Peter seems to take pity on him, and surprises him by giving him a couple soft strokes with the wide of his palm on his back. 

‘’We destroyed the place, of course,’’ Peter says, decidedly skipping the information on why and how Derek was in there to begin with. ‘’Freed the prisoners and locked the hunters in the emptied cells themselves. I, personally, would have liked to give them a slightly slower death, but Christopher was in such a hurry to just get rid of the evidence that we merely burned the bastards alive.’’

_ ‘’Good _ ,’’ Stiles croaks forcefully. 

‘’Good indeed,’’ Peter parrots darkly. ‘’Derek couldn’t shift back to his human self right away, so we needed to do a hasty retreat to the states. Once we were safely on home ground, I suggested a little retreat into the wilderness. It thrilled Christopher, as you can imagine.’’

Stiles snorts, though it’s weak and a little choked. ‘’Oh yeah. I bet he was hooping with joy.’’ He lifts his head to see Peter smirk a little. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, but decides not to brush his tears. They keep falling down his cheeks.

‘’Exactly.’’

‘’So, what, you found a no-name town in a mountain in  _ Utah _ , of all places, to settle down?’’

Peter tsks. ‘’Of course not. It took an entire year to wrestle Christopher into agreeing to come with me. We negotiated it carefully - ‘’

Derek huffs.

‘’- And by the time I had convinced him to move in with us, I had already found a suitable plot of land which was in a territory that belonged to no-one. A place so deep in the wilderness that even most packs won’t settle in. I’d thought of Alaska first, but Christopher was reluctant to leave the states. In case Mr. McCall needed assistance.’’

‘’Scott?’’

Side-eyeing him, Peter nods. ‘’Well, yes. Have you not kept in contact with any of the McCall pack?’’

‘’Uh, well,’’ Stiles swallows, sniffling. ‘’Not actively no. I mean, me and Scott text regularly still, but he’s kept all supernatural info to himself. And, well, my most recent job required me to cut contact with my old life for a certain period of time, so. . . I guess, I don’t really know what’s been happening over there?’’

Peter shrugs. ‘’Sometimes McCall consults Christopher, which means he’s actually consulting  _ me _ , but it’s better if he doesn’t know that. No need to rub it in his face.’’

‘’How humble of you.’’

‘’Practical,’’ he corrects. ‘’Which yes, means that Christopher has to go down there to investigate their current problem from time to time, and help out if needed. It doesn’t hurt that mostly his work is online based weapons trade and consultation, so he’s free to roam.’’

‘’And. . . Do you go with him? Ever?’’

‘’Don’t be absurd,’’ Peter scoffs. ‘’If I ever need to set foot into that godforsaken town again, it’s only to drag Chris back home kicking and screaming if need be. I have my own business to run here, without the headache of Beacon Hills.’’

Interest piqued, Stiles perks up. He sniffs a little more, wiping his shirt. It’s starting to get a little wet. ‘’And what is it that you do?’’

Grinning with sharp canines, Peter winks. ‘’Now wouldn’t you like to know?’’

Stiles knows Peter is trying to cheer him up now. He plays along, bumping him with his elbow. ‘’Yes, yes I do want to know, c’mon Peter. You can’t imply to something nefarious and exciting and then deny me the access to that information.’’

‘’Yes, I can,’’ Peter rebuffs smugly. ‘’Because the less you know, the better.’’

Grumbling, Stiles mutters. ‘’Bastard.’’

‘’There’s nothing wrong with my hearing you know,’’ Peter says. ‘’And besides, both of us can’t suddenly just leave Derek alone here. Someone needs to keep home base secured.’’

‘’Hm? Derek can surely take care of himself?’’

‘’He can,’’ Peter says, ‘’But he doesn’t really shift out of his fur.’’

Leaning over Peter’s lap, Stiles looks down at Derek. ‘’You don’t like opposable thumbs?’’

Derek shows him his fangs.

Dubiously, Stiles says, ‘’Those are not opposable thumbs.’’

‘’He shifts a couple times a year back to his human form, to reassure Christopher that he can,’’ Peter says. ‘’He isn’t stuck. It’s, perhaps, easier to deal with his thoughts when they are rather more instinct based, and not full of humane doubts.’’

‘’I honestly thought staying in full shift is bad. I mean, if statistically, we look at what happened to Malia, and then compare it to the trauma she went through and all those years she lost to coyote life - ‘’

‘’Extenuating circumstances,’’ Peter interrupts. ‘’Comparing two sets of stories that are entirely different in context, you would know that what happened to Malia is an anomaly. She did not understand she was a shapeshifter to begin with, and she was forced into that shift when she was eight years old. Of course she wouldn’t know how to change back, and it was easier to just let her animalistic instincts get the better of her. She survived merely because of that. But that is not what happens in stable packs, nor even to omegas. Shifting is just as natural to a were as speaking. It’s just a matter of mastering the language. In Derek’s case, he knows fully well who he is, where he is, with his anchor steady. He can change forms back and forth if he wishes. He just does not want to.’’

‘’Because of . . .?’’ Stiles trails off.

Peter raises a judgmental eyebrow. ‘’Stiles, you know our history. You are not this dense.’’

Spluttering, Stiles yanks his blanket down. ‘’I - That is very rude, you know - ‘’

The screen door rattles open. ‘’It’s past one am,’’ Chris says, put upon. ‘’Your yammering is keeping the neighborhood awake.’’

‘’Yes, dear,’’ Peter smirks, pushing his blanket away and folding it to the side. He gives Derek a couple scratches before ushering him down. 

‘’What neighborhood? There’s only moose and elk and bears, and all are safely tucked into their dens because this storm is just absolutely nuts,’’ Stiles complains, but stands up anyway. Yawning, he checks his phone and realizes that he’s been sitting here for the past hour. ‘’Wow, it really is, huh.’’

‘’I took the liberty of moving your bag into Derek’s room. I have changed the sheets. If you need something, you can ask Peter,’’ Chris says to him, as Stiles drops the blanket and slips inside from the door the older man keeps open for him.

‘’Thank you,’’ Stiles says, genuinely grateful. He wipes at his face. ‘’I didn’t realize I was this beat.’’

Chris locks the doors and follows him back upstairs. ‘’We normally eat breakfast at seven, so if you need to avoid company, come down after eight.’’

‘’Nah, I’d really like some company. I don’t enjoy spending time on my own,’’ he replies, awkwardly scratching his head. ‘’I mean. If you don’t mind it.’’

‘’We’d be delighted,’’ Peter purrs into his ear, making Stiles jerk in place. 

‘’Damn it,’’ he swears, taking double steps to get away. ‘’I really need to invest in some bells for you and Derek. Make sure you just don’t come in through the window of my bedroom next time you have something you need to talk to me about.’’

Peter looks slightly amused by this. ‘’Did that happen often? People climbing through your bedroom window?’’

‘’Often enough,’’ he grumbles, pushing the door to Derek’s room open. ‘’Good night.’’

‘’Sweet dreams,’’ Peter answers sweetly, pushing Chris towards their room. Stiles looks at them go before getting into his own.

Suddenly feeling very heavy and exhausted, Stiles changes his clothes. It’s slow, his brain actively trying to take in the room, all its strengths and weaknesses, open ends and exits, while on the other hand, his body is shutting down.

Checking that the door is slightly cracked open, he climbs into the huge, navy bed, snuggling under the weight blanket. He flops around a couple times, trying to find a proper position in the strange bed. Without his pillow, the mattress seems vast and empty.

A light clicks off at the end of the hallway, dropping the entire floor into darkness.

Staring blankly at the dark ceiling, Stiles wills his brain to quiet down. The wind howls outside, the storm forcing its way through the forest, rattling windows. It bangs faintly against the roof, trying to gain entry.

_ Let me in. _

He turns to his side. Closes his eyes. The sheets smell of laundry detergent, the pillows too soft and not soft enough. The mattress is different to what he’s used to, unfamiliar and unmooring.

He tries to find an anchor.

Derek’s nails clack against the steps of the stairway as he climbs up.  _ Clack-clack-clack. _

Somewhere downstairs a tree scratches against a window, scraping its wiry branches back and forth on the glass. The hum of an electrical machine spills gently to his ears as Derek enters the room.

He seems to sniff for something. Stiles lifts his head, whispering, ‘’Derek?’’

The wolf huffs, stepping closer to his head, carrying something in his mouth. Stiles slides slightly towards him, taking the fabric. He can’t see what it is, but it’s soft, and smooth.

‘’What is it?’’ he asks lowly, feeling it. When Derek doesn’t answer, Stiles sighs. ‘’Ah, right. Sorry.’’ Instead, he lays it out on top of the bedding, touching it in order to understand.

Derek doesn't deem it important to stay, so he quietly steps out, his tail swishing as he goes.

Stiles waves him off and focuses on the sudden gift. The shape of it is like a shirt. A henley. Stiles brings it to his nose. It smells like Derek, of his deodorant, his fragrance, as well as slightly of sweat, like the wolf had worn it for a workout or something.

It’s so familiar to him, in the scents of unfamiliar things, that, unbidden, his muscles relax. ‘’Oh,’’ he whispers, burrowing back inside the warmth of the blanket. He grabs the henley and puts it on his pillow, letting himself unashamedly gather the comfort from it that he needs.

An anchor.

His eyes roll back, sleep luring him into slumber. Stiles doesn't resist, going lax with a final, long sigh of air.

The trees in the distance creak and dance, snow piling slowly on top. The dark forest howls and whines as the blizzard gains speed and strength. A light gently lits up the end of the hallway, a point of focus for wandering shadows. 

The banging on the roof grows faster and louder, but Stiles hears none of it.

His mind has already wondered to a gentle summer breeze, car oil and gas exhaust, with gentle rock tunes drowning everything else. In the dream, big, warm hands grab his shoulders and steer him inside the safety of the Stilinski residence, his father smiling faceless on the door, with a strong, masculine fragrance pushing him in with sure hands.

At the end of the hallway, Derek guards the house closely as his pack slumbers. His paws are resting against a stone plate warded as  _ protection  _ embedded into the floor. He won’t let anyone, or  _ anything _ , in tonight.

Not even in dreams.


End file.
